You Didn't Have To
by cutie-tiger
Summary: Harry returns after his fifth year for another abusive summer at the Dursley’s, but, when rescued, won’t tell anyone what takes place. Snape grudgingly changes his opinion of Harry. Sixth year, not HBP or DH compliant, child abuse, no slash.
1. Chapter 1

**You Don't Need To**

**by cutie-tiger**

A/N: I thank you for taking the time to click on my story and hopefully to read it. This is not a slash story nor will it ever be. Pairings may develop in time but they will not be the focus of this story. If you would be so kind as to leave a review I would be grateful, but I will not be one of those authors that refuses to update if no reviews are left. I will also not be one of those authors with insanely long authors notes, so, without further ado, on with the story.

**Summary: **Harry returns after his fifth year for another abusive summer at the Dursley's, but, when rescued, won't tell anyone what takes place. Snape grudgingly changes his opinion of Harry. Sixth year, not HBP or DH compliant, child abuse, no slash.

**Disclaimer:** I believe it common courtesy to state that Harry Potter is not mine, and that this is purely fanfiction.

**Chapter One**

"How dare your freakish friends threaten us?"

The first words Vernon Dursley had said to Harry since he had been threatened by the Order of the Phoenix at Kings Cross station were said in a deceptively quiet voice, one that may have almost led someone who was not used to his temper to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't almost about to fly off the handle.

Unfortunately for Harry, he did know the large man well, and he knew that this deceptive quiet was just a front he put up for the outside world to see. He was well aware that as soon as they were inside Number Four, Privet Drive anything and everything that he owned that pertained to magic would be forcibly taken from him and he would be locked in the cupboard under the stairs without the prospect of light or substantial food for several days.

In the past Harry may have cared, he probably would have yelled at him, threatened him with Sirius, his supposedly murderous godfather. But now, it didn't seem to matter. Sirius was dead, gone, forever. And it was his fault. Sure, he'd listened to Dumbledore, and he really wanted to believe that it wasn't really his fault Sirius was gone, but he had spent hours contemplating Sirius' absence and kept coming to the same conclusion. It was his fault. Sirius was dead and there were lots of things he could have done to prevent his death, and he hadn't done any of them. And now Sirius was dead.

Sure, Uncle Vernon had no way of knowing yet that Sirius was dead, and Harry did not plan on telling him any time soon, he had quite clearly forgotten about Harry's godfather even existing and Harry felt sure that bringing up the subject of his death would not change the fact he was, in fact, gone.

Harry had long since come to the conclusion that he had to pay the price for Sirius' death, it was his fault after all, and one way of paying the debt he owed Sirius would be to submit to his Uncle's abuse. Of course, that wouldn't pay his whole debt, he would still need to do more. But he knew what he had to do. He had to defeat Voldemort once and for all. Even if the prophesy hadn't named him as the one to defeat Voldemort he still would have taken on the task now. He had to avenge Sirius' death. The only way for him to do that would be if he defeated Voldemort, and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Boy?" Vernon asked again in the same deceptively calm tone.

Harry didn't reply, he simply shrugged his shoulders and continued to stare out the window. He could feel the anger radiating off of his uncle and knew that whatever was to follow would certainly at least start to repay his debt to Sirius.

Vernon maintained his façade of calmness as he directed Harry to lift his trunk out of the boot of the car. That changed as soon as the front door clicked shut behind them.

"Take it to the cupboard and place it in the corner. I'll be along shortly to lock it, but first I want you to get out of it about 30 pieces of that stuff you use instead of paper. Get one of those pen things to. You're going to write those letters to that Moby person. They will be short, no pleasantries, just fact. You will be writing simply to let him know you are fine, thank you very much. Nothing else, do I make myself clear?" The deceptively calm voice was gone now. It had been replaced by a snarl.

Harry simply nodded. He hadn't really felt like speaking since he got into his Uncle's car. He got the feeling it was going to be one long, quiet summer. He sighed as he lugged his heavy trunk over to the corner of his room. He was glad of the bit of muscle he still had left from before he received a life-time Quidditch ban. His trunk certainly did weight a lot, but that really was only expected considering his entire life was contained in what amounted to a box.

He quickly grabbed his wand out and hid it in the rafters just above his old bed; it was a place he had often used to hide food when Vernon had locked him in the cupboard. He certainly didn't want his wand locked in his trunk. When death eaters came calling they wouldn't politely knock and wait at the door for him to find the key to a lock so he could retrieve his wand. Not even if he said pretty please. They would just barge in and torture and kill both him and the Dursley's. Harry might hate them, but he was no murderer. He wouldn't say no to a stint in jail for them, but he was most definitely opposed to murdering anyone, not even people as vile as the Dursley's. The only exception to this rule was Voldemort himself, but Harry didn't really consider him to be a human, he was more of a monster, some perverted accident of Dark Magic gone wrong.

Harry then sighed, picked out thirty small pieces of parchment and a quill and began to write his letters to Moody. He would dearly have loved to use a duplicating spell on them, but knew it was not allowed outside of school and did not want to chance another run-in with the ministry. After about two hours of writing he had finished his thirty short letters. Each and every one of them read:

_I'm fine. I'm not dead. No action of any sort._

_HJP_

His letters couldn't get any shorter or to the point than that he thought with a rueful smile as he glanced at the clock.

Not long after Vernon opened the door to the cupboard without so much as a knock.

"We've decided to move you back down here for the holidays. Dudley can make much more proficient use of his second bedroom than you can, so why would we waste the space on you?"

"You don't need to," replied Harry, having already worked out he would be stuck in the cupboard for most of the holidays.

"And don't think that just because your _owl_ will have to deliver those stupid letters to Blueby or whoever that you'll be able to send letters to you supposed friends either. And I won't be allowing any birds in the house. Your owl will live in the shed. Any complaint from you and you'll live there too. "

"Don't worry, _sir_, I've written my letters to _Moody_. They're here for you. You realise Hedwig will need feeding? They may get just a little suspicious if my owl shows up and faints."

A thunderous scowl crossed Vernon's face. "Your owl can have food. But anything she costs us is coming out of the money we would have spent on food for you. Get used to being hungry, boy."

"Whatever". Harry really didn't mind. Why should he get to eat when Sirius obviously would never consume food again? Harry briefly remembered Nearly Headless Nicks death day party, where the ghosts had drifted through the rotting food trying to get even the briefest tastes of one of the things many of the living take for granted. Was Sirius like that now? Is that maybe what the people behind the veil do? Try to reclaim some of the basic parts of life, at the same time being doomed to never feel or taste again.

"Don't speak to me in that ungrateful tone," snapped Vernon. He wasted no more energy on words, instead deciding to slap Harry across the face. Harry didn't even flinch. He deserved the bruise that he could already fell forming around his eye.

"Next time it won't be that light," warned Vernon, "a client of mine gave me a whip for securing a good deal on his drills. I've been just dying to try it out."

Harry felt a small glimmer of hope. Maybe he wouldn't have to put all that much effort into punishing himself for Sirius' death.

Later that night he fell into an uneasy sleep, constantly disturbed by nightmare of Sirius' death.

Harry was still dozing fitfully when he heard a pounding on his door. When he realised it was morning he felt oddly relieved, a few more hours would pass before he had to dream of his godfather's death. Of course, he still dwelt on it almost every second, but somehow seeing it, and having no control over what he was seeing was infinitely worse.

Harry had obviously lain in his room contemplating his nightmares for just a second too long. His door nearly fell off its hinges as it was thrown open by Uncle Vernon.

"BOY!" he screamed, "GET UP THIS INSTANT". He didn't even give Harry a second to scramble out of bed, he strode over to Harry's bed, grabbed his arm and pulled. Harry fell out of bed and landed on the floor with a thump, but not before a load crack could be heard coming from his shoulder, followed by a sensation of pain. Harry didn't even need to look at his shoulder to be able to tell. It was most definitely dislocated.

"Good thing you already wrote those letters," sneered Vernon. "Now get up and make breakfast. I will not accept a sore arm as an excuse for anything going wrong. After that you can complete the list of chores that is taped to the fridge for you. If you complete them all before I get home you may eat any leftovers from Dudley's dinner. If not, then you can expect me to be in here later trying out my whip. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir," replied Harry, still nursing his throbbing shoulder. He knew the list would be insanely long and with a shoulder in the state his was in there would be no way he could avoid a beating. But he would try. He would not swallow all of his pride just to please his Uncle. Besides, how would he ever stand up to Voldemort if he could allow Vernon Dursley to induce fear into his heart?

Harry cooked breakfast with relatively few mishaps considering he only had full use of one hand. He only burnt himself twice. He didn't dare run his burns under cold water. Vernon would probably try to drown him in the water as a punishment.

Harry couldn't really work out what had changed. Sure, Vernon had hit him occasionally in the past. But he had never basically promised Harry a beating. Not that Harry really minded. He was almost happy at the distraction from Sirius. But he knew he would have to be careful to hide his wounds when he went back to Hogwarts. Two months seemed so long away. He was sure it was long enough to come up with some reasonably believable explanations for the black eyes and burnt hands he was now pretty sure he would have by September First.

Harry contemplated his explanations as he dug and planted a two by one metre vegetable garden in the Dursley's back yard. Just one of the ten tasks he had been given to perform that day. He knew he would be hard pressed to complete even this one, considering that he would undoubtedly have to make a trip to the store to buy the seeds for the garden. By the time he had planted the seeds he had his explanations all planned out. The black eyes could be explained away by saying he slipped and hit his eye on the side of a table, then couldn't really see where he was going on his way to the kitchen to get some ice for it and crashed into a door knob on his way. The hands were a little harder, but he decided to settle on at least a little of the truth. He burnt his hands by accident while cooking dinner for the Dursley's.

It wasn't that he wanted to protect the Dursley's from prosecution. He just didn't want people to know that the great Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, couldn't even bring himself to stand up to a great muggle slob. He'd always wondered why he had more bruises than the other children when he was younger, why his chest always hurt more than those of others who Dudley used as a punching bag.

Once, when he was really little, just started school, this nice man his Teacher, said was a Policeman, talked to their whole class. He said people hitting you was not right, ever, and if they did you could tell him now, or your teacher, or your school nurse and they would help you. The whole time he was looking at Harry, kind of like he _knew_. Afterwards, as Harry was leaving, he asked him to stay behind.

'_Hey kid, what's your name?' he asked in a kind voice._

_Harry nearly shot through the ceiling he was so used to not being noticed. Even his teacher ignored him, she thought he was dumb, and probably dyslexic too. He didn't know why he couldn't see the board, he thought it was just more of that freakishness Uncle Vernon would always yell about as he beat him._

'_I'm fr.. uh, Harry,' replied Harry timidly._

_This wasn't lost on the Policeman, who studied Harry with an indecipherable look on his face. _

'_Your Mum and Dad, do they do what I was talking about to you, Harry?'_

_Harry shook his head vehemently, 'My Mum and Dad are dead, sir, Aunt Petunia says they died in a car crash when I was little. All I got was this scar, see?' He lifted up his fringe to show the nice man, while his heart beat quickly, Uncle Vernon had promised to knock the stuffing out of him if he ever told anyone about his punishments._

'_Your Aunt and… Uncle, yes?' at Harry's hesitant nod he continued, 'do they do what I was talking about to you?'_

_Harry again shook his head, but the policeman noticed a slight hesitation beforehand. It wasn't much, but he was used to dealing with abused children, for him, it was an admission that this child was being beaten._

'_Can you tell me how you got that bruise then?'_

_Harry's hand immediately shot up to cover his black eye. With his other eye he looked down at his shoe. After a few minutes he seemed to realise that it was being left up to him to make the next move._

'_I… fell, sir.'_

'_Mmmhmm, and would you mind telling me the truth now, please?'_

_It was the please that swayed Harry, he looked up at the policeman, and began to speak in a voice so soft that it was all the policeman could do to hear it._

'_Uncle Vernon, he says nobody cares what happens to freaks like me. He punishes me a lot when I'm a bad boy, and I'm a bad boy a lot. He tells me I'm a big freak and that no one cares about me. He tells me my parents were just as freakish as me, and were horrible to go off and leave me to be a burden on their hardworking relatives'. Once Harry got started he whispered this all out in quick succession. _

_The policeman had looked at him calculatingly after that, and had assured Harry that soon his Aunt and Uncle would be reprimanded for the way they had been treating him._

_Sure enough, a couple of days later a social worker called at the door. Harry was in his cupboard, currently unable to move due to allowing Vernon's tea to become to strong. _

_Aunt Petunia had answered the door._

'_Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley, I'm Yyvone Sinclair from Child Youth and Family Services, I'm here about a complaint regarding your treatment of one Harry Potter. Would I be able to see the child in question please?'_

_Petunia had paled at that statement, but quickly regained her composure. Certainly, if you'll take a seat on the couch, I'll just fetch him._

_With that, she had run up the stairs, grateful that her rotten nephew was still passed out under the stairs. She had burst into Dudley's room and quickly explained that she'd take him to the dairy and buy him a nice ice cream bar if he'd pretend to be Harry for a few minutes._

_It hadn't taken long to smooth over with the lady from CYFS, she had quickly concluded that, while slightly overweight, the child she saw before her was not abused._

_When Uncle Vernon returned home that night he made it clear to Harry what he thought of him being an 'underhanded crybaby'. It didn't help that he was drunk. Harry certainly had the stuffing beaten out of him. After that, he learnt never to trust any adult that offered him help._

Harry signed as he worked hard in the garden under the scorching summer sun. He knew this year it would be worse than ever, but something had changed within him. Losing Sirius made it seem like nothing mattered any more. His perception of life had been drastically altered, a part of him felt like it was missing, every time he looked at something some silly little memory of Sirius would come to mind. He'd never had a father, and Sirius wasn't really like one, he was more like a concerned friend, but one of his last ties to his parents had been cut, and Harry just didn't know how to feel.

He wasn't going to welcome the impending punishment, he knew he had to fight it, he knew that death was the cowards way out, but somehow, he felt like he deserved it, like that was how his life would always go.


	2. Chapter 2

**You Didn't Have To**

**by cutie-tiger**

**Summary: **Harry returns after his fifth year for another abusive summer at the Dursley's, but, when rescued, won't tell anyone what takes place. Snape grudgingly changes his opinion of Harry. Sixth year, not HBP or DH compliant, child abuse, no slash.

**Disclaimer:** I believe it common courtesy to state that Harry Potter is not mine, and that this is purely fanfiction.

**Chapter Two**

Harry's work in the garden had, naturally, been deemed unacceptable by Vernon, along with the fact he had not completed his list of chores, so he was, once again, locked in the cupboard under the stairs nursing bruises, welts and many broken bones. He'd tried to fight back, he really had, but when you have a ten tonne muggle bearing down on you with a whip it can be quite difficult.

It had been worse this time. Vernon had been drunk, and not just drunk, he had been totally off of his rocker. He could smell it on his breath. He could also tell from how clumsy his movements had been. Vernon had come to drag Harry out of his cupboard to perform the beating, however, he had managed to bang his head on the doorframe. This did not body well for Harry, because it only served to enrage Vernon further, and the beating had been particularly vicious.

He had whipped Harry for a long time, aiming particularly for his head. Harry had been eternally grateful that he had thought to remove his glasses before his uncle returned home. After the beating he had dragged Harry up by the collar.

'Send off the first of those letters, boy, NOW,' he had practically screamed in Harry's face.

Harry had hastened to comply, stumbling out to the shed, wiping the blood from his eyes. He had nearly fallen into the shed, but had been careful not to let any blood get on Hedwig's snowy white feathers. He didn't want any of the Order to become concerned. He didn't want to be a burden to anyone and he certainly didn't want to return to Grimmauld Place, and face memories of Sirius. He told Hedwig she was a wonderful owl as he strapped the first of many identical letters to her leg and opened the door to let her fly out, she squeezed her talons on his arm as she took flight, almost as if she were telling him that she understood that he had to be strong.

That night he had slept fitfully, awakening often to dreams of Sirius falling through the veil. He knew that these were not dreams sent to him by Voldemort, but dreams sent to him by his subconscious, which would not let him forget, even in sleep, the fate which Sirius had befallen because of him.

---------------------------------

The following weeks of his holiday passed in much the same manner. Harry was woken up by his Aunt screaming in the morning and rolled over in a great deal of pain to grudgingly begin another day of hard labour, with only a beating at the end of the day as a reward.

Every day he prayed that his uncle had not been drinking, because on those days the beatings were always worse, and he was always more inclined to use the whip.

The Dursley's had seemingly decided that Harry was not worthy of their food, and he was having to survive on three pieces of bread and several litres of water a day. Harry could tell he was losing weight rapidly, there was no way he couldn't be with the amount of forced labour he was doing every day.

The only things that really kept Harry going were thoughts of Sirius, and determination that he would never get close to anyone or allow anyone to get hurt the way that Sirius had. As the days had passed with the endless chores he had attempted to decipher how he felt about Sirius' death, however, he had reached only one conclusion, and that was that his godfather's death had altered his perception of life, he now saw things differently. He could not identify quite how they were different, but he knew that something within him had changed.

Harry's nights were no more restful than his days. Every night without exception he would wake screaming, sometimes he would be gripping his thin rag in a death grip, sometimes there would be silent tears that he could not bring himself to shed in his waking hours running down his cheeks. He would never show the weakness of crying around anyone, it was a luxury he could not afford. He needed to become hardened to defeat Voldemort, to get his revenge on the one that had taken so much from him.

Every three days he would be sent out to the shed to send off another of the identical letters to Hedwig. He was always careful to get no blood on the letter or his owl. Every time he went to her she looked at him with mounting concern. It was almost as if she was begging him to ask for help.

But he couldn't, there was nothing he could do. This was his life.

-------------------------------------

One particular night Harry could sense that something was different. He lay in his cupboard, waiting for the inevitable beating, trying to decipher what could be so much different about this particular day.

Then he realised.

Today was his sixteenth birthday.

If Vernon Dursley had remembered, he would not be impressed.

Harry soon realised he wouldn't have much longer to wait to find out, as he heard the front door click open. He could clearly hear his uncle stumble down the hall and could tell, without even smelling his breath, that he was utterly intoxicated. Within seconds his cupboard door was slammed open.

'Potter,' he breathed, it would have been almost like his deceptively calm tone, but it was worse, this tone spoke of utter malevolence, thinly veiled.

'Potter, Potter, Potter,' he continued. Harry was beginning to wonder what he was getting at.

'Potter, Potter, Potter,' be breathed, 'Happy Birthday, Potter.'

That was one of the last things that Harry had expected to come from his uncles mouth. He tried to hide his utter confusion while also biting back the fear he felt rise within him as he saw an extremely malicious smile adorning his uncle's face.

'I think it's time I gave you your birthday present, Potter'.

Harry new at this point that something was extremely wrong. Vernon Dursley would never give him a desirable birthday present. Dursley was breathing heavily, watching Harry with a twinkle of malice in his eyes, the complete opposite of the caring twinkle to be found in Dumbledore's eyes. Harry couldn't decide which eyes he was more scared of, those with a malicious twinkle, or those with glowing red slits. It was a tough call.

'I got you a lovely belt, Potter, with a nice large buckle'.

Vernon paused, as though waiting for a reply, Harry simply sat still, staring at him intently, hardly daring to even breathe. That belt was big, and the buckle was one of the biggest he'd ever seen, probably a good six centimetres across, and built very heavily. It would have easily set off the metal detectors at the airport. Harry wasn't stupid, he knew what it was for, and he knew that it would be painful, more painful, even, than the whip.

'Well, Potter, say thank you, accept your gift graciously,' there was now sort of an insane giggle coming from Vernon, he sounded as is he had completely gone round the bend. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he would die on this night.

Harry's Gryffindor courage chose that moment to rear up, and despite his protesting injury's, he drew himself up as tall as his cupboard would allow. He inclined his head.

'Uncle Vernon.'

'Say thank you, you ungrateful boy,' Vernon was now back to deceptively calm tone.

'No.'

It was a simple word, but it released a torrent of fury from within Uncle Verson. With a howl of rage he lunged into the cupboard, grabbing Harry by his shirt collar and forcing him backwards into his small cupboard. He began to hit him around his head, his knuckles colliding forcefully with Harry's nose causing Harry to fall backwards. Harry had heard and distinct crack, and, from the blood pouring out of his nose, it was easy to tell that it was broken.

Harry tried valiantly to struggle against Vernon, but in his malnourished and weakened state, there was no way he could fight against the big, beefy man. Vernon quickly began to beat him with the belt, and Harry cringed away. This belt hurt worse than anything he had been beaten with before. He could feel welts rising on his skin, could feel the buckle cutting through his flesh, drawing blood. He could feel the blood leaking from his body, and he could feel himself weakening as his head was banged repeatedly on the floor. When Vernon began kicking his chest, Harry distinctly felt a couple of his ribs snap, but could not dwell on it as he continued to put up his weak, ineffective struggle.

Mercifully, unconsciousness claimed him soon after Vernon moved to his chest, and when he realised Harry could no longer feel the pain he was inflicting he swung the door closed with a harsh bang. Vernon made it upstairs and washed all of the blood off, before hiding the belt and collapsing into bed beside Petunia.

Not one person in Number Four, Privet Drive, noticed that today was the day Harry was meant to have sent Hedwig away with the next of the letters.

This fact didn't escape Hedwig's notice, and when she realised that her owner was not coming, not even covered in blood, to send her to Dumbledore, she pushed her way through the shed door, that luckily Harry had forgotten to lock after his latest stint of forced labour in the garden. Had Vernon discovered this it would have almost certainly resulted in another beating for her young master.

That night Hedwig flew faster than she ever had, winging her way swiftly towards Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in search of help for her young master.

---------------------------

Severus Snape was sitting in his chair at the head table, enjoying the solitude that came with being the first to eat breakfast in the early morning hours. During the summer holiday's the house elves served each of the remaining members of staff with whatever happened to appeal to the staff at that given point in time. This was not a very big task, because most of the staff spent the majority of their holidays with their family or staying at their summer residence only returning a week before the students. Only Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Hagrid, Trelawney and Sinistra were staying at Hogwarts over the break, along with the Headmaster, naturally, and, of course, Filch.

During his blissfully quiet mornings sitting alone to eat his breakfast, without the incessant chatter of hormonal brats, and without Minerva and Pomona continually attempting to make _small talk_ with him so that he didn't feel left out, Severus would often reflect on just how nice quiet was, and would often call into question his reasons for being a teacher. He always came to same conclusion, that it was protection from the Dark Lord that he sought, yet there was always something, lurking just out of sight in his mind. This something was almost like doubt. He had maintained, throughout his entire adult life, that he disliked teaching, and could think of nothing less desirable than having to preside over a bunch of young brats with snot dribbling out of their noses.

But now, with the war escalating, and the Dark Lord becoming so bold as to enter into the Ministry of Magic, there was no question as to whether the war would be over, one way or another, within the following two years, probably even within the coming year. If, as Dumbledore so fully believed, the Potter spawn would be the one to bring the reign of the Dark Lord to an end, then his life as he knew it would be over. He would have to re-evaluate, he would have an opportunity to leave teaching for good. But could he do it? He was loyal to Dumbledore, he knew that, and he knew how hard it was to find a competent potions master, willing to teach classes filled with children with nearly no talent for the subtle art. There was another reason he didn't know if he would leave, but he wouldn't admit it. Throughout his years at Hogwarts, he had found some sense of stability within the old castle's walls. They had been there in hard times of his life, and had always shielded him from the worst of the backlash coming from public opinion of him. He didn't know if was ready to leave the place he had come to call his home. He remembered how hard it had been the first time, when he had graduated, having to leave the castle walls and never look back. As soon as he had been out of the protection, that very night, his abusive, drunken stepfather had had him marked. But he hadn't fought, he had been to distraught over losing his home, he had almost welcomed the pain of being marked as a distraction from his loss. It was that willingness to receive the mark at the time that made him such a good spy now.

Another reason Snape wanted to stay at the castle was the opportunity to shield other children from growing up in an abusive household as he had. Many children had been relocated to a relative or a friend's house, because of his careful, watchful eye. He was considered, by the other professors, to be the most knowledgeable person in the castle on the subject of child abuse. But he never went about it in a kind way. He didn't need the students thinking that he was going soft because he _cared_ about them. It was in his job description, was the phrase he used to rationalise his actions to himself, it had nothing to do with being kind or sympathetic, the walls he had built around himself wouldn't allow that to happen.

Severus Snape believed he was cruel and heartless, because that was a way to protect himself. The walls he had built within himself to hide any emotions from the outside world were not dissimilar to the walls of Hogwarts, which hid him from the outside world.

Snape was startled out of his someone depressing musings by a commotion as an exhausted looking snowy white owl came flying through the Great Hall at top speed, winging its way towards the head table. He recognised the owl immediately, how could it be anyone but Potter's, but the odd thing was that it was carrying no letter.

Seeing Potter's owl wasn't an odd occurrence, indeed, it seemed to arrive just as he was leaving the Hall and Albus was arriving every three days. It was early than usual today, and not bearing one of the identical letters the Potter brat had been sending every three days. He, personally, was disgusted, that Potter could not seem to be bothered scrawling more than a few words every three days to let them know he was alright, he would have thought that the boy had used a duplicating charm if he hadn't known any better.

If it hadn't been for the fact that he was sure owls couldn't show emotion, he would have been sure that this one looked almost panicked and concerned, but that was ridiculous.

He steeled his expression as the owl flew straight at him, looking as if it was about to dive bomb him. This slowed the owl enough that it came to a stop before him on the table, but it still looked exceedingly anxious.

'What do you want?' he enquired in a harsh tone. He couldn't quite believe that he was asking a question of an owl. Potter's owl of all owls.

'If you have no message to deliver kindly refrain from entering the Great Hall and disturbing my meal at this hour in the morning,' again, why was he talking to an animal that was unlikely to understand a word he said?

This seemed to frustrate the owl, as she began to squawk loudly and flap her wings about in a frenzy, she began trying to pick at his hands to gain his attention.

'Kindly do not pick at my hands, owl, I require them for my profession,' he swatted at the owl gently, in an attempt to discourage her from any further hysterics. He began to scowl at the owl as it sent his glass of pumpkin juice flying across the table.

Albus, of course, chose that opportune moment to enter the hall.

'Severus,' he called, 'whatever is that awful racket?'

Severus didn't need to answer, as Dumbledore caught sight of Hedwig causing a raucous at the head table.

Hedwig had noticed Dumbledore's exclamation, and, seeing someone that she thought might hold a modicum more concern for the welfare of her human, she flew off quickly towards him. Holding up a hand to placate to frenzied owl, Dumbledore allowed her to land on his other arm. Hedwig paused briefly, to see if perhaps this wizard had worked out the reason for her behaviour.

'Severus, did she bring a missive with her?' asked Albus calmly?

'No, she just flew in here squawking and making a racket,' replied Severus.

'I wonder… She is an intelligent owl; it wouldn't have escaped her notice that young Mr. Potter sends us a note every three days. Is it possible something has happened to him and he was unable to call for help, so his owl has chosen to come in search of help for her master?'

Hedwig seemed to think he was on the right track, and she hopped up and down on his arm a couple of times, as if encouraging him.

'What?' sneered Severus, 'do you think Potter may, Merlin forbid, have a head-cold.' Hedwig bristled at this statement, looking at Snape with a scowl that would almost rival his, if it wasn't for the fluffy white feathers around her face.

Dumbledore's eyes hardened slightly, but he did not appear angry.

'You know Harry as well as I do, Severus, a cold would not keep him from anything. In any case, yesterday was his birthday, and he has no contact with the Wizarding World for a month now. I think it is high time we sent someone to at least check up on him, especially since he has recently lost his godfather, as you well know'.

Hedwig looked exceedingly relieved that Dumbledore had reached this conclusion, and looked up at him expectantly.

A/N: this is the end of chapter two. I worked hard to get this chapter ready, to prove some commitment to continuing this story. I won't promise daily updates, but I will try to make them somewhat regular. These first couple of chapters have been quite descriptive; the plot should start to move along a bit more after this now that the scene has been set. Thanks for taking the time to read my story. Feedback would be appreciated, but I won't base my next update on how many reviews I get.


	3. Chapter 3

**You Didn't Have To**

**by cutie-tiger**

**Summary:**Harry returns after his fifth year for another abusive summer at the Dursley's, but, when rescued, won't tell anyone what takes place. Snape grudgingly changes his opinion of Harry. Sixth year, not HBP or DH compliant, child abuse, no slash.

**Disclaimer:** I believe it common courtesy to state that Harry Potter is not mine, and that this is purely fanfiction.

**Chapter Three**

'Now, who to send,' mused Dumbledore, as Hedwig moved on his arm impatiently.

'Surely the werewolf would be willing to go, or one of the Weasleys, or any other one of his adoring fans,' sneered Snape.

'No, no, no,' muttered Dumbledore, 'Remus is off conducting some business, any one of the Weasley's would drag him from there if he so much as sneezed in their presence, and no one else is really available.'

'So you will be going yourself, then?' Inquired Snape, raising an eyebrow, Dumbledore rarely left the castle during the summer holidays, unless it was for an urgent trip to the Ministry, although, he mused, Potter would probably be important enough to him, given the prophesy that Dumbledore was so fond of going on about at Order meetings.

'No, no, my dear boy, I should not leave the castle unless there is no other option. That leaves you, Severus, would you please go and check on Harry?'

Snape was flabbergasted, not that he let it show on his face. Why would Albus ask him, Head of Slytherin House and notorious enemy of Gryffindor's Golden Boy, to go and check up on said brat? Had Albus finally lost his marbles?

'Albus, really, do you honestly feel that it is necessary to check on him. He is now sixteen. I'm sure that there is nothing really to worry about, it was probably something exceedingly petty that got Potter's owl in such a state, maybe he didn't get any pudding.'

Hedwig again turned her attempt at a scowl towards to Potions Master. The feathers around her face, did, once again, make it highly ineffective, but Severus got the point. This owl did not agree with him one bit. She tightened the grip of her talons slightly on Albus arm.

'Be that as it may, Severus, though I highly doubt that, I would still appreciate it if you would take a few minutes to check on him. I believe you know the address. I also see that you have finished your breakfast, so now would be an opportune time to visit with him, before you begin any arduous tasks. You needn't visit for long, just long enough to ascertain the state of his health, both mental and physical if you will, it will be up to you to make any necessary judgements. I believe you know the address from the order meetings?'

The last sentence wasn't so much a question as a statement. Severus was left with no doubt as to what Dumbledore expected him to do at this point. Scowling darkly, he stalked from the hall, robes, as always, billowing behind him.

'Oh, Severus, before you leave,' called Dumbledore in a mild and pleasant tone, now that he had got what he wanted from Severus.

Severus spun slowly on his heel, for it was rarely a good thing when Dumbledore called someone back.

'Yes, Albus?'

'You need to fit in; it wouldn't do to have you causing a scene, would it?'

Severus' scowl deepened as he saw Albus wave his wand in his general direction. His face took on an expression of mild disgust as he peered down at the dark muggle suit he was wearing, complete with a white dress shirt and sombre grey tie. He chose not to dignify Albus' actions with a response, instead turning and stalking out of the door. Muggle attire certainly seemed to diminish the effect of his billowing somewhat, but he nonetheless made an imposing figure as he stalked out of the door.

As he left he could hear Albus crooning to Potter's owl.

'Now, dear, you look tired. Did you fly a long way very fast? Poor young owl. Why don't you go and take a nice rest and get some food from the owlery, I'm sure the other owls will be grateful to see you, the school owls tend to get a tad lonely with all of the students owls away for the summer. But they'll let you sleep, I'm sure, they should just be settling down for the day. Now, don't you worry about Harry, Severus will make sure he's safe and sound. There's a good dear.' The Headmaster continued on in this manner, softly stroking the snowy owls feathers, while walking slowly towards the Head Table, no doubt to share his breakfast with the creature.

Severus shook his head, sometimes it was easy to see how some could mistake the Headmaster for a doddering old fool, but if they looked beneath the seemingly senile surface, they would most definitely see his raw power and strength, two of the qualities that made him such a powerful, influential and respected wizard. Severus suppressed a snort, Fudge was right to be worried, Dumbledore wouldn't have to so much as smile at the Wizarding Public and he would be elected as Minister, while for Fudge it was a daily fight to retain his position of power. The only thing that kept Fudge safe was the fact that Dumbledore was much too committed to Hogwarts and the children that passed through its walls to ever dream of taking on the role of Minister of Magic.

Inane thoughts such as these continued to pass through Severus' mind as he stalked through the grounds towards the gates. Really, there were much better things that he could be doing with his time than traipsing half way over Britain just to check up on Dumbledore's little wonder boy. Poppy would, of course, be expecting her infirmary to be fully stocked with his expertly brewed potions by the start of the new school year, and there were some that took several weeks to brew. Ever since the unfortunate incident during Potter's second year, when that insufferable Granger girl had somehow managed to turn herself into a cat with the use of what was undoubtedly polyjuice potion, she had asked him to make sure there was a batch of strong restorative draught in her stores. Unfortunately, even with magic preservation spells, the shelf life of this potion was only a year, and it took a good two and a half weeks to brew.

Potions could not, after all, be rushed. They took precision, and time, you couldn't simply turn up the heat and make them cook faster. Unfortunately, he had to restrict the potions that he taught to his dunderheaded first through fifth year students simple potions that could be brewed within the course of a one, or maybe two, hour lesson. It was not until he began to teach the sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. course, that he could expand into some of the potions requiring longer brewing times. The students would often have up to five potions going at any one time, which they would allocate their time to as needed. That was one of the reasons he only took students with an 'Outstanding' O.W.L. grade into his class. When brewing the more volatile potions, there was no room for error.

With a grunt of displeasure at the Headmaster choosing to waste his time in such a pointless manner, Severus threw open the gates, shut them behind himself and spun on the spot. With a popping sound that could only come from apparition, he landed in a deserted back alley off Magnolia Crescent, a prepared to take the short walk from there to Privet Drive, to check on Gryffindor's Golden Spoilt Brat.

Without further ado, he strode down the street, setting a quick pace, as he always did. He was not going to allow the Potter brat to waste any more of his time than was strictly necessary.

It was not long until he was standing in front of one of many generic houses that littered Privet Drive. The only way he could tell that this was Number Four was the obscenely well polished brass number four that was screwed onto the letterbox. He rapped on the door impatiently.

It took a few seconds for him to gain any response, but eventually, after he checked his watch, several times, a boy resembling a large whale crossed with a slug opened the door. The only way he could tell that the creature, was, in fact, human was the mop of blond hair perched on the top of his head. Severus couldn't help but wonder if some of the blubber from this creature would make an outstanding experimental potions ingredient, or if it would be so fowl that it would cause anything he was to take it near to explode.

'What?' inquired the Blob, rudely.

'May I inquire if this is the Dursley residence?' Severus spoke calmly, but it was easy to tell he was fighting hard to suppress a sneer at the sheer ugliness of the creature before him.

'Of course it is, who else would live here? I'm Dudley Dursley,' announced the creature in a proud, arrogant tone, almost as if he himself thought he was talking to an incredibly dense child.

Severus couldn't hold back the sneer, this time, 'if that is the case,_mister_ Dursley, may I please speak with your mother.

'Sure, whatever,' and the blob turned around, yelling out loudly, in an appallingly rude tone, 'MUM.'

Severus heard a shrill reply of, 'what is it Duddykins?'

'Someone at the door for you,' was the curt reply. No respect, no acknowledgement of the fact that this woman was his mother. It was disgusting.

It did not take long for a skinny, horse faced woman to appear at the door. She glanced at him, then said in a haughty voice, 'I'm not interested in joining any churches, good day.'

She then went to close the door, but Severus' foot shot out and held it open.

'I can assure you, Mrs. Dursley, that I have no desire to convert you to any religion. I am Professor Severus Snape, and I have something I wish to discuss with you, if I may come in?' Severus chose intentionally to leave out any mention of the fact that he was a wizard, knew Harry Potter, and taught at a wizarding school. If, and he didn't think it was true, he was just taking the necessary precautions, if, Harry Potter was being treated badly here, it wouldn't do to antagonise his relatives.

After he had been led to the sitting room, in which he noticed several pictures, albeit unmoving, of the blond beach ball, but not one of a skinny, black haired teenager, with green eyes. He decided that maybe Potter wasn't as popular here as he was in the wizarding world. He decided to cut straight to the chase with Mrs. Dursley.

'I am here to see Mr. Harry Potter. Would you show me to him, please?' Severus wasn't in the habit of saying please, but he was well versed on how to use manners, his stepfather wouldn't have stood for anything else.

Petunia visibly stiffened at his request, and, not being a spy daily placed in life or death situations, she was unable to hide it.

'No one with the surname Potter lives here. If you hadn't noticed, the people in this house carry the surname Dursley,' all pleasantries were now gone, and she spoke coldly. Snape could tell that she definitely had something to hide.

'I happen to be an acquaintance of Albus Dumbledore, whom I believe you know. I know, as well as you do, that Potter is here. Now, show me to him or I will find him myself,' with that Severus pulled out his wand, carefully choosing to let it point in the direction of Petunia.

'VERNON,' she screeched, 'there's one of _them_ in the house, looking for the freak.'

Severus heard a great crashing sound and through the door stormed a man not dissimilar to a beetroot. He may have looked intimidating if clean-shaven and wearing a suit, but, clad in pyjamas and clearly displaying the symptoms of a particularly bad hangover, as he was, he looked like nothing more than a lazy, fat, drunk.

If drink was involved then there may actually be something wrong with Potter. He would get to the bottom of this and quickly.

'Show me to Potter, now, I have no more time to waste on pleasantries.'

Vernon tried to stand up to him, but his voice was quivering ever so slightly, 'Put that stick of wood away sir, I won't stand for it being out in my house.'

Severus sneered at him, using the same sneer he usually reserved for Potter; these were his relatives, after all. 'This is so much more than a stick of wood. It could turn you inside out, pull your brain out through your air, or rip you into shreds, all with a single motion. But all of these, it seems, may be too good for you. Now I will ask once more, where is the boy?'

He was honestly surprised that Potter hadn't heard all of the carrying on in the living area and come to investigate. Maybe the brat was still sleeping peacefully.

'Not here.'

Snape didn't need to be a legilimens to tell that Vernon was lying, it was obvious from his body language. He had had enough.

He rested his wand in his palm.

'_Point me Harry Potter_,' he incanted.

His wand spun, pointing in the direction of the hall. That was odd, as he had expected it to be pointing upstairs, in the direction of a bedroom.

He followed the wand through the doorway and towards the staircase. It soon became obvious that it was leading him towards a cupboard underneath the stairs.

That cupboard would barely be big enough to fit a person in, so what would Potter be doing under there. Maybe he was throwing a tantrum and hiding, although that appeared to be becoming less and less likely with each passing second.

He banged on the door twice, then attempted to open it. When it wouldn't budge he quickly scanned the door, noticing a padlock placed on the outside.

'Don't think I'm giving you the key,' crowed Vernon triumphantly from behind him.

'I don't need one,' sneered Snape, '_alohomora,'_ and the lock clicked open.

He spun on his heel, now pointing his wand at Vernon. 'Unless you wish for something particularly unpleasant to befall you this instant, I suggest you leave me to find your nephew in peace.'

Vernon looked properly scared, and almost ran into the sitting area, where you could hear his and Petunia's frightened tones. Thankfully, their human lump appeared to have disappeared.

Severus slowly opened the cupboard door, noting that it swung outwards, which was not what he would have expected.

The smell that greeted him was unpleasant, to say the least. It smelled somewhat like one of the Dark Lord's bloody, torturous revels, but it was significantly worse. It smelt like a revel left to rot, with much human excrement mixed in. It was almost unbearable, especially with Snape's large nose. However, many years bent over potions which didn't smell too good had helped Severus to get used to ignoring unpleasant smells.

The cupboard was very badly lit; in fact, it wasn't lit at all. The small amount of light that the open door let in did not illuminate more than about half a metre into the cupboard. If Potter had been shut in here for any significant length of time, too much light too soon would undoubtedly hurt his eyes. Keeping that thought in mind, Severus cast a very gentle _lumos_ and peered into the shadows.

What he saw made his breath catch in his throat; Potter was lying in a pool of his own blood, in a seemingly unconscious state. His Hogwarts trunk was sitting off to the side of the room. Sitting on top of it was a stack of parchment. He glanced curiously at one of the pieces, trying to avoid facing the inevitable truth of Potter's current situation. What he saw almost shocked him, and would have, if not for the fact that it was very hard to shock Severus Snape. Each of the pieces of paper held an identical message, in Potter's untidy scrawl. This message was identical to the message the Dumbledore had been receiving from Potter all summer. Who knew how long Potter had been lying here? Potter did appear to at least still be breathing, although it was hard to tell because of how skinny and bony he was.

Severus quickly grabbed his trunk and shrunk it, putting it in his pocket. His broomstick and his owl's cage soon followed, although it was obvious that the owl had not lived in it for quite some time. Then he turned to Potter. Using slightly more gentle movements he grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him out into the hall where he could see him. If he was unconscious, the light wouldn't hurt his eyes so much. Amazingly, his glasses weren't broken, that at least was good fortune, as a disorientated Potter would only be harder to handle if he couldn't see.

Severus aimed a quick _scourgify_at Harry's body, removing most of the blood caked around his figure. He would certainly need a couple of blood replenishing potions, and quite a bit of bruise and laceration balm. Who knew what other internal injuries and broken bones would also need to be repaired?

Amazingly enough, the small amount of movement from the cupboard to the entranceway had managed to rouse Potter from his state of unconsciousness. He was moving his head slowly in a pained way, and letting out soft moans. Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking up at the Professor looming above him.

'What are you doing here, sir?' he inquired, his voice was raspy, like it hadn't been used for a while, and there was not much strength behind his question. He sounded like he would drift back into the blackness any second.

'Stay still, Potter, you will be leaving here. I will need to levitate you outside the wards surrounding the walls of the house in order to apparate, but we will be able to apparate once through the door. The apparation may cause you some discomfort, but rest assured it will be less painful than flooing or portkeying.'

Harry looked up at him calculatingly; you could tell that through the haze of pain it was taking him slightly longer than normal to process things.

Severus interrupted his thoughts as he held out a vile of yellow tinged potion.

Harry looked at him accusingly, as if he expected Snape to be slipping a vial of poison. Snape mentally cursed Moody and his somewhat odd obsession with yelling out _constant vigilance_. No matter how important it was to be vigilante, he really didn't want to have to explain his actions to Potter, he knew it would be hard for him to admit that he was giving the boy pain relief to make him feel better.

When Potter continued to stare at him and then the vial suspiciously, Severus decided that he would have to explain himself, despite how much it may hurt his pride as the uncaring, Gryffindor hating, potions professor.

Well, at least no one said he had to be nice about it.

'It's pain relief, Potter, or would you prefer to suffer? If so, please die quietly.' He knew it was an inappropriate to speak of death, when Potter appeared to close to that point himself, and when his godfather had just died. But he would not take Potter's incessant moaning as he was levitated outside and then up to the castle, not when there was an option that would easily prevent such moaning.

Reluctantly, Harry reached out and took the vial from Snape. He uncorked it with shaky hands and downed the contents quickly. He then closed his eyes and waited for the pain relief to take effect.

A/N: Thank you to all those who expressed interest in my story. I do hope to keep the updates coming every few days. It's nice to know people like it. This isn't intended to be a cliff-hanger, there is honestly nothing wrong with the contents of the vial. I hope to update again in a couple of days, if not tomorrow, we shall see how fast I can write the next chapter. Thanks again for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**You Didn't Have To**

**by cutie-tiger**

**Summary: **Harry returns after his fifth year for another abusive summer at the Dursley's, but, when rescued, won't tell anyone what takes place. Snape grudgingly changes his opinion of Harry. Sixth year, not HBP or DH compliant, child abuse, no slash.

**Disclaimer:** I believe it common courtesy to state that Harry Potter is not mine, and that this is purely fanfiction.

**Chapter Four**

It didn't take long for Harry to open his eyes again. Not that Severus thought it would. His potions were good and he knew it. There was slightly more strength behind his voice as he spoke for a second time.

'Thank you for coming, Professor, but it won't be necessary for you to levitate me.'

Already Harry appeared to be beginning to struggle his way to his feet.

'Stay where you are, Potter, you don't need to make your injuries even harder to heal,' snapped Snape. Or course, if asked, he would say his concern was purely out of a desire to make sure his work-load was as low as possible, but the real reason was that he now had proof that Potter was an abused child, and there was nothing he could do but try to stop someone else suffering as he had as a child. This didn't mean that he liked the Potter brat, not one iota, but nobody deserved to suffer child abuse.

Potter briefly slumped back to the ground, only to glare intensely at Snape. Points surely would have come off Gryffindor, had it been during the school term, but luckily, or unluckily, however you choose to look at it, it was not the school term. He soon resumed his struggle to stand up.

Snape was about to move to stop him, but the fire burning in his eyes was almost too intense. When the pain began to overwhelm the fire, however, he moved forwards to help.

'Professor, I need to do this, I need to know I can still keep my pride.'

It was as close to a plea as he knew he was ever likely to hear from Potter and somehow, it swayed him. He knew the utter lack of dignity that came from being beaten, the feeling of being absolutely worthless and unable to stand up to anyone. He knew what it was like to feel like being able to stand was the last bit of dignity one had left, what it felt like to have everything ripped from you by one you couldn't stand up to, to have nothing but your own essence to carry you on. It was why he always made sure he walked back from his meetings with the Dark Lord, as it was common for him to dole out the _Cruciatus_ just to make sure his followers were on their toes.

Potter was trying so hard to hold on to the one thing he had left, his pride. Who was Severus to strip him of it, when he knew that it was exactly how he himself would have acted?

'Potter, if you make any of your injuries even the slightest bit worse, I will personally see to it that you are stuck to a bed with a sticking charm for the rest of your holidays.'

Potter just ignored him, but hatred and defiance were clearly displayed in his eyes as he slowly dragged himself up the wall. Severus could see that the boy was in a great deal of pain, but he was too stubborn to admit it and ask for help, especially from his potions professor.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually Harry was upright, although he was clinging onto the wall and panting heavily.

'Potter, you won't be able to walk without assistance, you will need me to let you support you.'

Harry scowled at him; it was obvious that he was putting as much malice behind the scowl as he could muster, despite the amount of pain he was so obviously in, even with the potion. His skin was beginning to take on a slightly greenish tinge.

'Like hell you will,' he managed to grind out.

'Language, Potter, pain does not give you due cause to use foul language.'

If it was possible, Harry's scowl became more pronounced, but the provocation had at least one effect, he was able to draw himself away from the wall slightly and take one shuddering step towards the front door. He was still supporting himself on the wall, and the step seemed to take a great deal of effort.

'This will take all day,' muttered Snape, sensing the provocation would provide Harry with the fuel he needed to keep going outside the wards surrounding the walls. At least the neighbours wouldn't see them, Snape didn't need them thinking that it was him that had inflicted the damage and calling the please-men. Snape personally thought please-men was a very silly name for a law enforcement agency, and thought that they should have thought up something that sounded a bit less like it had come from a child's television programme.

His sense proved to be correct as he saw Harry stiffen slightly, but take another, slightly firmer step towards the front door. As they were passing the archway that entered the living a beetroot coloured bulge came flying through the archway, its fist connecting with the side of Potter's face. Severus could hear the bone snap, and saw Potter struggle to hold himself up with the wall. It was obvious that Potter knew as well as he did that if he went down he would not get up unaided again.

Of course, Severus couldn't stand by and watch one of his students get beaten up, especially not when he had stood so firmly against child abuse his whole life.

He took two quick steps forward, and with surprising strength, coming from years of duelling practise, he threw Vernon bodily off of his nephew. He thought it best not to use magic to antagonise the man while he was still looming over Potter. Now that he was sprawled on the other side of the hall though, it was a different story. He whipped his wand out and cast the first spell that came into his head.

'What have you done to me, you freak?' screeched Vernon in an unnaturally high voice.

'Not even a fraction of what you deserve, you cretin from the cesspool of humanity,' sneered Snape, his eyes flashing even darker than they normally were.

He looked extremely menacing standing there, towering over a cringing Vernon, who was at least twice his width. His wand was pointing straight at Vernon's heart. He paused, trying to decide what curse to cast to cause the optimum amount of pain and suffering to this despicable excuse for a human being.

All of a sudden Potter was standing between his wand and his Uncle. It would have taken an extraordinary amount of willpower for him to get across the hall and be standing, unaided as he was now.

'Move out of the way, Potter, you need no more injuries,' sneered Snape.

'Lower your wand,' replied Harry, in a smooth, quiet, somewhat challenging tone.

'Are you crazy, Potter? Look what he's done to you. My punishment is no less than he deserves, a nice round of _crucio_ should do the trick.'

'No.' Harry's voice was still quiet, but Severus could hear the determination, nonetheless.

'Why must you insist on defending this cretin, Potter?'

'He's not my family, I couldn't stand to call him that, but he's married to my blood, and I'm loyal to blood.'

'He's not even fit to be a human being!'

'I know, and I would like nothing more than to see his soul sucked away by Dementors, but he isn't worth it.'

At this point, Harry had to stop to draw a breath, he was panting to heavily. There was sweat beading on his forehead, and he was starting to shake.

'I once told Sirius,' at this Snape snorted derisively and Harry glared at him.

'I once told Sirius,' he repeated more emphatically, 'that my father wouldn't have wanted him and Professor Lupin to become murderers, just for Peter Pettigrew. That Pettigrew wasn't worth it'.

'But look what happened because of Pettigrew. They would have been right to kill him.'

Anger flared in Harry's eyes.

'Voldemort,' he began, Snape stiffened at the name, but decided to let it pass, 'would have found a way to come back without his help. As it is, Pettigrew owes me, and Professor Lupin was not put into Azkaban.'

Harry took another long, deep, shuddering breath. Snape could see what this was costing him.

'No one needs to be a torturer, not for this lowlife,' stated Harry as he gestured behind him.

'You forget what I was in the past,' replied Snape, coldly.

'I haven't forgotten. But I know that you wouldn't sink that low now, and I won't have you do so on my account.'

Snape could grudgingly see that Harry was talking reason, but he was loathe to admit it. He knew, however, that Potter would not last much longer in this standoff, and he therefore needed to get him out of the house before he killed himself. However, as he was fighting off his murderous tendencies, Vernon suddenly lunged forward and knocked Potter to the ground.

This time Snape did not even consider the possibility that he may hit Potter, he sent the beefy man flying with a bludgeoning curse.

Harry was on the ground and not moving, except to moan softly and attempt to try and roll over.

Vernon was sitting propped against the archway, blood running down the side of his face from a cut on his head.

He heard Petunia screeching from the sitting area.

'Oh, look what that evil, vile man has done to my poor husband. Duddykins,' she screeched, 'call an ambulance for Daddy, he's hurt.'

Snape could not imagine a man as large and ugly as Vernon Dursley ever being known as "Daddy". Petunia's high pitched screeching was really beginning to get to him and he cast a silencing charm in her direction. She immediately began clutching at her throat. Severus wasn't worried though, it would wear off in a day or so, and she was asking for it, really, with a voice as high pitched as hers was.

Vernon certainly appeared to be suitably dazed, and seemed to no longer pose a threat. Besides, it was time to get Potter out of this house. With that in mind, he turned to Potter, who was slowly trying to lever himself off of the ground, with little success.

Gruffly, Severus said, 'let's get you up off the ground, Potter.'

Potter made a noise that sounded like he was trying to refuse, but Severus was not having a bar of it, and grabbed Potter under the shoulders and lifted him gently to his feet. The boy was certainly too light, for that to be as easy as it was for him. He knew Potter would still refuse to be levitated, as long as he was conscious, but he was not about to stun the boy and lose any trust the boy may have had for him.

Without making any comment to let Potter know what he was doing, he threw Potter's arm over his shoulders and began to support him towards the door. He knew that accepting the help would be slightly less humiliating if it was neither offered nor asked for.

'I don't need help, Snape,' muttered Potter, always one to ruin the moment.

'Well, I beg to differ, and you are getting it, and that's Professor Snape to you,' replied Snape in an utterly unaffected tone. This tone clearly let Harry know that there was nothing he could say or do that would change Snape's mind. It was made up, end of story.

Snape paused when he heard a shuffling sound coming from the archway where he had left Vernon propped. His wife was busy trying to hold a white cloth on his head to stem the flow of blood. Meanwhile, Vernon was trying to fight her off, but was having little luck, as she was clinging desperately to his shirt as he struggled to rise.

'What have you done to me, freak?' he ground out. 'What was that thing you did with your stick of wood?'

This caused Snape to turn around, careful to continue supporting most of Potter's weight.

He spoke to Vernon in a manner that suggested he was speaking to a particularly dense first year, someone whom he considered to be more stupid than Neville Longbottom. 'I cast a spell, Mister Dursley, using my _wand_.'

Beside him, Harry snorted. He hated Snape, but his sarcastic humour did not seem half as bad when it was directed at someone other than himself.

Vernon looked as angry as if someone had uttered the 'm' word. That was quite a feat, considering his current position of leaning against a door in a dazed state.

'What did you do to me?' he repeated, sounding slightly frantic at this point.

'Oh, you mean what _spell_ did I use?'

If Harry hadn't known better he would have sworn that Snape was purposefully trying to antagonise Vernon.

Vernon's nostrils flared at this comment and he glared at Snape. It may have been slightly more impressive had he not been glaring at the master of the art. As it was, he looked like a fool.

Snape glared back, and his glare was much more intimidating. Vernon appeared to be suitably cowed. Snape decided to answer the man's question, if only to make sure he knew _exactly_ what was happening to him.

'Any damage you inflict on _any_ living creature will be automatically transferred to you. If you cut off a stem of a plant, you will sever one of your own fingers or toes. If you hit someone, a bruise exactly matching theirs will appear on your person. If you set an ant on fire you will also ignite. I'd watch out for squashing bugs if I were you. Stand on even one cockroach and you too will be squashed to death.'

Vernon looked horrified, and began looking around himself as if he was extremely paranoid, which, of course, he had good reason to be, for if he so much as squashed a mosquito, he would be dead. Snape did not stay to have a discussion with him over the curse's effects. He did not have the patience for one as dense as Vernon.

'Come, Potter, we are leaving.'

Harry seemed to take this as the signal that Snape would let him go, and he pulled away from him, taking several staggering steps towards the doorway. He collided roughly with the wall beside the door, clearly using all of his available energy to hold himself up now that Snape had ceased to support him.

'Potter, I don't have time for your bloody-mindedness. I gave you a chance to help yourself, but, face it, you can't. Now let me assist you in getting out that door so that we can all go back to things that we would rather be doing.'

Harry had the grace to look ashamed, but didn't protest as Snape again threw his arm over his own shoulder and threw the door open with a muttered spell.

As soon as they were out the door Snape eased Harry's arm off of his shoulder and instructed him to hold tightly to it.

Potter amazingly managed to hold his tongue and not ask any idiotic questions, so, without another word, Snape turned on the spot and apparated them straight to the gates of Hogwarts.

Harry seemed to turn even greener as he peered at the dauntingly long walk up to the castle. It had never seemed like such an amazingly large task to complete before.

Snape was about to snap at him to 'hurry up and stop wasting my time,' however, before he could a glint of something flashed in Harry's eyes, Snape assumed that it must have been that annoying Gryffindor Pride showing up again, and Potter steeled his face. It was easy to see he was prepared to face the walk rather than lose face.

Snape knew from countless nights staggering up the path injured after one of the Dark Lord's meetings how horrible the walk would be for Potter. Sometimes he wasn't to curse Gryffindor Pride. He knew the value of having pride, but those Gryffindor's had what could only be considered to be too much. They didn't know when there was no other option but to throw their pride aside.

He again threw Harry's arm over his shoulder and the two began the long trek up to the castle.

A/N: I do not think Neville Longbottom is stupid; I was merely trying to express Snape's views on the subject. Also, the reason Snape and Petunia do not know each other is that this story is set before HBP and DH so it does not follow those stories. Another update should follow in a few days. Thanks so much to all who are reading, and a special thanks to all who are reviewing, I am very grateful and hope you are enjoying reading this.


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